


your father isn't here, silly

by GiuGiu



Series: TUA Kid Fics [2]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Kid Fic, but also reginald is a jackass so maybe, but not really, grace hargreeves is the best mom, grace just NEEDS to make dinner ok, this is really just a strange snapshot into their lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 18:32:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18016139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiuGiu/pseuds/GiuGiu
Summary: “We wanted to be bird feeders.” Number Four grinned, leaning over to pick a chia seed off of Number Six’s ear.“Like the one we made during crafts.” Number Six elaborated, pushing his brother’s hand away from his face. Grace had used last week’s recreation time to make peanut butter bird feeders with her children. She had carefully written the report asking for permission, justifying her choice with data about gross motor skills and basics of biology instruction.This had not been in her contingency report. She would need to be more thorough next time.Or, raising seven four-year-olds while having limited free will isn't easy.





	your father isn't here, silly

**Author's Note:**

> So Grace is amazing. This started as some Grace & Diego bonding fluff and became something with a silly plot, idk what happened.  
> It's so hard to raise kids, imagine doing it with limited free will. With seven kids, all of whom are the same age.  
> She's a fucking saint.
> 
> Also I have not edited this soooo yeah sorry. Maybe I'll do that if I survive midterms.

Number Two crawled into her lap. His small hands pressing heavy as he climbed up her skirt, his clumsy legs slipped and she caught him lightly around his torso and pulled him up the rest of the way. 

“Mom, look!” The boy held up a small, droopy yellow flower. It was a weed from the courtyard, nothing more. But the small child in her lap was holding it like it was a precious treasure. 

“Oh, my, it is quite pretty isn’t it?” She kept her hand on his torso, feeling the soft pull of his chest as he breathed. It was addictive, feeling him take breath after breath, his soft organs humming underneath the ever growing skin all her children had.

“It’s like your hair,” he held the flower to her carefully designed curls. His eyes, bright with a childish glee, darted back and forth between the flower and her hair.

The color was not the same, the flower was a bright yellow while her hair was a muted gold but she was finding that her children rarely discerned things like the subtleties of colors. Her sensors were picking up on his temperature under his carefully ironed white button-down. 98 degrees. Average for him. 

She grinned at her son. “Thank you, Number Two, that is very sweet.” The boy’s smile widened making his cheeks rosy. Grace’s programming was saying it was time to make dinner.  _ Dinner, dinner, dinner _ her mind was chanting. She pushed it aside and leaned close to kiss her son on each cheek. Her sensors sang as Number Two giggled in delight. Her son’s happy face momentarily sent a wave of 1101010100101 through her, blinding everything. When she came back online Number Two was pushing the flower into her chest.

“It’s for you!” He cheered. She delicately plucked the flower from his chubby fingers. “Smell it, it smells nice!”

She held it up to her nose and inhaled, letting her olfactory system take in data. She detected a very faint smell, too faint for her son to actually sense. Children often saw the world the way they wanted to see it. It was charming, Grace could only see the world exactly as it was, but her seven tiny humans were always pretending and playing.

She detected a loud sound upstairs. “Oh dear, dinner will have to wait won’t it?” Number Two nodded, although she suspected he wasn’t following her thought process. She shifted him to her hip as she stood, pet his soft feathery hair, and started up the grand staircase towards the bedrooms. The noise seemed to be coming from the end of the hall, in Number One’s room.

She knocked on the door, but the inhabitants were arguing, she opened the door with a cheery “Knock, knock!”

Number One was crying, face a blotchy red. Across from him Number Five was standing with his arms crossed. He looked far too serious for a child of four. 

“I will go to the moon! I will!” Number One screamed at his brother.

“No you won’t! Only astronauts go to the moon!” Number Five screamed back. 

“I can be an astronaut!” Her sons were both crying now, completely hysterical with their rage. 

“Boys,” she called out, Number Two burrowing into her shoulder. He didn’t handle his brothers’ conflicts well. “Boys, this is not how we treat each other.” She kept her voice calm but stepped further into the room.

Number One ran to her, throwing his arms around her legs. If she were human she most definitely would have been pushed over by his strength. She used her free hand to brush her son’s white blond hair out of his streaming eyes. Hoping to provide the maternal comfort she had been made for. 

“Mama!” He screamed into her skirt. “Mama, make Five stop!” His fists bunched in the polyester fabric. She detected several small tears that would need to be mended before she charged tonight.

She leaned over and scooped Number One up onto her other hip. “It’s okay,” she soothed, rocking him slightly. She planted a kiss on his forehead. His temperature was high, most likely from his elevated stress level. With a child on each hip she kneeled in front of Number Five.

Her son still had his arms crossed and was looking at the ground defiantly not making eye contact. “Darling,” she started. Her brain was still chanting  _ dinner, dinner, _ and it was making it hard to focus on her children. Perhaps she would need to speak to their father about having some of her program changed. “I think you’ve hurt your brother’s feelings.”

Number One sniffled wetly against her neck, supporting her statement. Number Five was still glowering at the floor.

“When we hurt someone’s feelings we have to say ‘sorry’. And then we don’t do it again. Can you say sorry to Number One?”

Number Five broke his composure to quickly wipe away some tears. “...he’s being stupid. He can’t go to space. Kids don’t go anywhere.”

“Well that’s just not true, dear. Number One may go to space someday if he really wants to.”  _ DINNER DINNER DINNER. _ Her legs were twitching toward the door as her programming grew frustrated. “Please, apologize.” Number Five threw his hands up.

“Fine! Sorry you’re dumb!” He ran out of the room and Grace heard his door slam shut down the hall. If it were any other time of the day she would have followed him but her programming was washing over her, and fighting it was getting painful.

So with two boys on her hips she walked to the kitchen.

“M-m-mom?” Number Two whispered into her ear. His stutter was linked to emotional distress 94% of the time. Unfortunately, her children experienced plenty of distress on a daily basis. She should research strategies to assist him. “C-c-c-can we have m-m-meatloaf?”

She smiled at him. “Of course, dear.” 

When they entered the room Grace knew dinner was going to be very very late. “Oh my.”

Number Four and Number Six were sitting on top of the informal dining table that was there for the children’s breakfast and lunch times. Both of them were completely covered in a paste of peanut butter and Pogo’s chia seeds. Tiny peanut butter handprints covered the fridge and floor as well.

She set Number One and Number Two down. “Boys, why don’t you go find your sisters?” She ushered them out the door before turning to assess her other sons’ mess. She scooped them into her shortly freed arms and started marching back upstairs.

“I suppose you boys will have early baths tonight, won’t you?” She kissed the very sticky top of Number Six’s head. She would also need to clean up before she made dinner. Reginald strongly disliked messy appearances. However, he also disliked tardiness and dinner was officially twenty minutes behind. 

_ DINNER _

She quickly peeled the ruined clothes from her sons sticky skin and placed the boys in the filling bathtub.

“Sorry, mom.” Number Four whispered as he rubbed circles into the peanut butter on his thigh. 

“Sorry, mom.” Number Six echoed, trying to assist her by dunking his head under the soapy water. She took Number Four’s face in both hands and wiped the slimy condiment off his cheeks. His big green eyes were scanning her face.

“Are you mad?” He asked as she scrubbed his eyebrow. Despite her buzzing programming she couldn’t help but find the situation strangely endearing. She wiped the soap away from Number Six’s eyes before it could bother him.

“No, honey. I’m not mad at you. But what on Earth were you doing?” She unplugged the tub, letting the seeds and peanut butter drain out before refilling it again. She pulled out a washcloth and start rubbing at Number Four’s feet. The tiny toes giving her the strange 1101010100101 she got with her children sometimes. 

“We wanted to be bird feeders.” Number Four grinned, leaning over to pick a chia seed off of Number Six’s ear.

“Like the one we made during crafts.” Number Six elaborated, pushing his brother’s hand away from his face. Grace had used last week’s recreation time to make peanut butter bird feeders with her children. She had carefully written the report asking for permission, justifying her choice with data about gross motor skills and basics of biology instruction.

This had not been in her contingency report. She would need to be more thorough next time.

When her boys were shining with cleanliness she toweled them off. Normally she would supervise them as they dressed but the  _ DINNER DINNER _ urge was too strong so she sent them on their way. In the kitchen she spot cleaned her skirt, accepting the stains. A punctual dinner was more important.

And her skirt was ripped from Number One’s tantrum besides. Perhaps she could ask Pogo to fetch her a change of clothes while she cooked?

Number Two had requested meatloaf. Meatloaf was part of Meal #16. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, green beans.

It also took about an hour and a half. She only had an hour. Reginald would be very upset. But she would rather upset him than Number Two.

So she started Meal #16. She was just turning on the stove to boil the potatoes when she heard someone call for her.

“Mom! Mom!” Number Three. She smiled and turned to face her daughters who were running into the kitchen. Number Three ran in with Number Seven close behind. Number Seven had obviously been crying, judging by the tear tracks running down her cheeks.

“Mom! One and Two are being mean! They made Seven cry!” Her daughter was tugging frantically at her skirt, eyes wide in a way that meant she wanted Grace to fix the problem. 

If she asked them about what happened, there was a 76% chance they would both begin to throw tantrums until she punished Number One and Number Two.

She did not have time for that.

If she distracted them, there was an 89% chance the situation would resolve itself. With only a 21% chance that it would resurface later.

“Hello, girls. Why don’t you help me make dinner? I’m ashamed to admit I’ve fallen quite behind.”

She found it fascinating how her children could be incredibly stubborn at times, and yet so easily persuadable at others. Her daughters grinned up at her, pleased to be invited. She noted the data, the average was now 89.25%.

She pulled out two chairs for her daughters, the table was still smeared with peanut butter and chia seeds but she would clean it after dinner. She placed the bowl of meatloaf mixture in front of them and handed them each a spoon.

“Here you are, if you girls could mix this it would be very helpful.” She supervised them while cutting the green beans at a speed that was inhuman but her daughters didn’t seem to mind.

When they finished stirring she transferred the meatloaf to a pan and put it in the oven. 

It was going to be 21 minutes late.

She handed wet cloths to her daughters and asked them to wipe the table down. It was another distraction. She knew they would mostly just spread the peanut butter further. When the potatoes were ready she let them help her mash them, their arms weren’t strong enough to make any progress but she praised them nonetheless.

“Good job, Number Seven. I can tell you’re trying very hard!”

“Very nice, Number Three. Thank you so much for helping me.”

The potatoes were finished. Which, of course, was when Number Seven sneezed in them. Grace hadn’t detected any signs of illness in her daughter. Perhaps she needed to reboot. Mistakes like this were unacceptable.

“Oh no, Mama. I’m sorry,” her daughter looked up at her. Big brown eyes already filling with tears. Her daughter cried the most out of all of her other children, and Grace couldn’t bear to see her cry right now.

“Ewwww!” Number Three shrieked. If Grace was programmed to sigh, she would do it at this moment. Number Seven burst into sobs.

“I ruined the potatoes!” Grace scooped her damp daughter onto her hip and brushed her tears away, shushing her gently.

“Oh darling, no. The potatoes are fine.” Her data banks had information stored on communicable diseases. But she wasn’t programmed to obey those protocols as strongly as she was programmed to serve dinner. “Here, look.” She took a spoon and scooped the top layer of potatoes out of the pot. “All better!” Her daughter stopped crying but seemed hesitant, unsure if she was actually forgiven. 

Grace tickled her sides. The peals of laughter rang through the kitchen. Dinner was meant to be served in 2 minutes but her programming was suspiciously quiet. She leaned over and brushed light fingers on the back of Number Three’s neck. Relishing in the exuberance in which they doubled over to laugh. When the giggling subsided she sent her daughters out to fetch their brothers for dinner, kissing each on the cheek before they left.

That night, dinner was late. Number One and Number Five refused to look at each other. Number Four and Number Six still had wet hair. However, Reginald did not comment on these things. Or her messy appearance. Or even the tardiness of the meal. He did not comment on these things, because he chose to not attend dinner. 

Grace smiled at her family. She stood, in her normal place behind Reginald’s chair. Her children chewed the cut-up bites of meatloaf she had plated for them.

“Mom,” Number Four called. “Mom, can you sit with us?” Protocol required her to stand at the ready, yet out of sight during dinner. But… she would like to… pretend.

Pretend the way her children pretended. She wanted to play human and sit with her children like a human mother would during a dinner she had prepared.

“Of course, honey.” She grinned and sat at the empty chair next to Number Three. Her children gaped.

“M-m-mom.” Number Two stuttered, he clutched his fork with white knuckles. “D-dad doesn’t l-l-let you sit with us.” She clasped her hands primly and pushed her shoulders back, determined to look natural despite the oddness of the situation. She could be just as real as other mothers.

“Your father isn't here, silly.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> In case you're wondering, Grace kept Diego's flower and is going to press it and turn it into a bookmark.
> 
> My tumblr is http://les-waff.tumblr.com/ if you wanna chat ;)


End file.
